Page 36 of Judas (The Lito Duet #2)

He’s tall, like over six feet, probably closer to six-four.

Thin, like he hasn’t eaten a full meal in months.

Dark hair strewn all over the place, with chunks of it having fallen over his forehead and into his eyes.

He’s rough-looking, to say the least. In clothes much more appropriate for Canadian weather than mine are, but still no real jacket in sight.

Barely able to make them out, I see tattoos peppering up and down both arms, then notice they are also creeping up his neck.

Too shadowy in here to make out an eye color but scraping my memory, I know they’re grey.

Not the pretty kind either, the ones you get lost in because they are like beacons.

No, the ones that look like slate, no shine or luster to them, just flat color and dull.

“No one,” I blurt out, feet stepping back until my naked heels meet the tub I was just giving Liz grief over.

Recognizing my abductor, I refuse to look back and see what may be behind me.

The hunt for a weapon is put on pause as I deal with him.

Needing to remain alert and not let him out of my sight if I want to stay alive.

He’s already made it pretty clear that he will hurt me—if the lacerations and bruises on my face say anything about it.

“You’re a terrible liar, Sadie. Good girls don’t lie,” he retorts, then blinds me when he lifts a flashlight and flicks it on. A bright beam hits me so hard in the face I can feel pain shoot through my retinas.

“Goddamnit! Did you have to do that?!”

“Do not take the Lord's name in vain. That was your one chance.”

“Jesu—“ I start but he shifts and stands taller. “Sorry,” I murmur instead.

Neither one of us moves then, my skin crawling as he stares at me with the light blazing across my chilled body.

My fingers and toes aren’t bothering me that much anymore; too cold to feel them, I guess.

I just hate the way these clothes scrape like sandpaper, and his gaze seems as if it’s going through me.

Time begins to drag before he scoffs and speaks again.

“Most people would be asking questions right now. Why me, what do you want, who are you? But not you. You were in here arguing with yourself, now you stand there without an ounce of curiosity?”

“Taking it this is your favorite pastime? Abducting little girls, beating them into your trunk, then dragging them across the country?” I snap back. He doesn’t fucking know me, he has no clue what I’m going to ask, then to insinuate my differences? Fuck off.

“Hardly, sweet girl. Children are usually off limits. I also don’t play with my food this long. If I didn’t have plans for you, you would have died at the bottom of that embankment you so elegantly tumbled down in Michigan.”

“Lucky me.”

“Indeed. Now, I found some food. Get out here and put something in your belly before I shove it down your throat. The growling is annoying.”

“And the arguing isn’t?”

“Not at all, I know a crazy bitch when I see one. You get that from your mother.”

“And just who in the fuck are you then? Mr. I-Assault-Children.”

“Uncle Lucien, of course.”

At that, the weirdo walks away, taking the light with him and my eyes are plunged right back into darkness.

There’s no damn way, he’s… he’s the one that sent the letter talking about family and my mom?

With a sudden burst, I race after him. Bare feet pad quickly across the floor as I dart out of the bathroom, but he’s not in the bedroom I woke up in.

Instead, there’s a door open on the far end and I head for it.

It doesn’t take me long to find my way around the cabin.

Down the hall, at the very end, it opens up into the living room and kitchen space where we came in.

There are a few more lights shining here and there, candles flickering since night is falling, but it’s the accumulation in the kitchen that draws me.

Anger sitting at the tip of my tongue, waiting to unleash words upon this… this… kidnapper!

“You sent the letter.” The words tumble out of my mouth when I round the end of a very large island. On the top of it lies a spread of old canned food that is likely well past the best by date.

“Sure are quick.” His words are dry.

Asshole .

“The letterhead said Sortiger. So, you’re also a convict.”

“Another point for Gryffindor.”

“Slytherin.”

“What?”

“Slytherin house, it’s the—no, don’t get off topic.

Were you in for kidnapping? You made it seem like you knew my mom, she’s in Bluitt, nowhere near Sortiger.

” I rapidly fire questions at him, still standing here, not wanting to get closer.

More concerned with having those questions answered than figuring out why he took me.

I’m sure that will come out in the wash.

“Eat,” he responds, ignoring my inquisition.

“No, I’m not hungry.”

“What did I say about liars, Sadie?”

“I’ll eat when you answer my questions.”

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists.” He slides a plate across the island that I didn’t see before. There’s meat on it, beans, corn—he got all of this from the abandoned pantry?

“Because you are one?”

Flicking my eyes back up to him, he’s grinning at me.

Pinching my brows together, I can see him better in the light now.

He has scars all over the place, some on his neck that interrupt the ink on his throat, then his arms are covered too.

I don’t mean a cluster of ten or fifteen near the wrist, I mean they are everywhere.

The pale lines leave the tattoos across his skin jagged and no longer aligned. This guy really fucks himself up.

“You’re funny. You get that from me.”

“I don’t get shit from you. What the hell did you do to your arms?”

He scowls then. “Atonement, Sadie. You’ll learn about that soon enough.”

“I think the fuck not. I don’t cut.”

“Yeah, then what is it that you do to punish yourself for your sins?”

Oh for fucks sake, he’s one of those people.

Listen, I don’t judge, I have no ground to do so.

But when you force feed religion it makes you unbearable and kills my vibe.

We already know it’s fucked up as it is.

Especially when the three rummaging around in my head—who are oddly quiet—let me know just how fed up they are with something like religion.

Samael, no Uncle Lucien, Lucien, Luci? Lulu?

Fuck that, we’re not on nicknames basis yet.

He’s ’creepy fuck’ right now. Anyway, he’s staring at me, waiting for my answer but he isn’t getting one until he answers mine.

I guess it dawns on him when I cross my arms and go quiet.

The atmosphere grew heavy all over again.

Watching him like a hawk, he reaches out and snatches up some of the meat on the plate and starts feeding himself, ignoring my behavior.

Or, at least I thought he was until he spoke next.

“Multiple homicide.”

“Huh?”

“Daft girl. I’m answering your questions.

I was convicted of multiple homicide, not kidnapping.

I’ve known your mom all of my life. Long story short, we both had crappy lives.

She went the better route but we still ended up at Darkwater together.

Nadia as a prison guard, where she met your father, and of course me as an inmate. ”

Lucien doesn’t look up as he takes a few more bites, followed by a few spoonfuls of cold canned produce.

Nadia. My mom’s name is Nadia. Father and Mother never told me, and her name isn’t on my birth certificate either.

I would have found her if I at least had her name and now that I do—it seems surreal.

He knows my—well, knew —my parents. And is the only bridge I have between my life and the one I should have had with them.

There are so many questions I need to ask but I don’t think he’s going to be as forthcoming as I want him to be.

“So, when my father said she was a sex offender, it’s because—“

“Yes, she had an illegal relationship with your sperm donor. Don’t worry, though, I fixed it,” he said, cutting me off.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I killed him, Sadie. I just told you I went in for multiple homicide, don’t act stupid. It’s really unbecoming of you. Now eat.”

My mouth snaps shut and I scowl at him. I need more answers, why did he keep me from my mom? If he is who he says he is, doesn’t he want all three of us together? Why wouldn’t he stay in Michigan where she is so when she gets out we can—no.

“You plan on killing her too, don’t you.” It’s not a question, I already know. Rage builds inside of me as I wait for his confirmation. The unhinged maniac in my head starts to pounce around, scream, and howl for her release. Gearing up for an inevitable war.

“Not at all. You’re going to kill her.”